Messiah: the myths and the magic

For many the Messiah is an integral part of Christmas. Goldie Down tells the intriguing story of how it came to us.

Christmas was quite probably the thought furthest from George Frederick Handel’s mind as he shivered in London in the autumn of 1741. At the best of times it was hard for a musician to earn a living and now, at age 56, he was completely down on his luck. It was a state of affairs not entirely unknown to Herr Handel.

Born in Germany in the late 17th century, Handel was one of the few musicians who enjoyed a degree of popularity and success during his lifetime. To most such geniuses, fame came too late. But Handel’s life knew its ups and downs, dictated largely by the musical tastes of those who congregated in fashionable drawing rooms.

Lacking modern cinema, video, TV and organised sport, the people of those times sought relaxation and amusement by flocking to soirees, plays and musical recitals.

In the 30 years between 1711 and 1741, Handel had written 35 three-act Italian operas, but now the market for this form of musical entertainment had withered. In addition, his patron, Queen Caroline, had died a few months earlier, and he greatly missed her support. And he’d only recently recovered from a long illness that had prevented him from working.

Added to these woes, being unable to work had plunged him deep in debt. The outlook couldn’t have been darker.

However, in the middle of the 18th century, religion came back into vogue. The reigning royal family was extremely pious, and contemporary music and art leaned heavily on Scripture and holy themes. Undoubtedly this accounted for what happened next.

Handel had a close friend, Charles Jenners. The two had successfully collaborated on previous occasions, and now at this most propitious moment, Jenners sent Handel the words for a new opera.
You can imagine him writing: “Here’s a libretto I’ve been working on. If you want anything to be successful, you must use a biblical theme. The royal family are religiously inclined, and everyone follows their lead. How about doing the music for this?”

Far from being the deeply consecrated person we would expect the creator of the renowned Messiah to be, Handel’s biographers say he was not overly religious. He was a bachelor, and reputedly a bad tempered one, yet generous to a fault. He claimed to be a Lutheran, but in London, attended the Church of England, as did almost everyone who was anyone.

Jenners was not particularly pious either, but he had a good business head. Looking from our perspective, it’s hard to believe that the masterpiece that is Messiah, produced by the pair, could be anything if not inspired. Surely some divine hand directed Jenner’s selections from Scripture as well as Handel’s choice of music.

The libretto consists of Old and New Testament prophetic utterances about Christ and His mission—some relate to His first coming to earth, and some His second at the end of the age. Jenners must have known the Bible quite well to have chosen texts from such divergent and obscure Old Testament books as Job, Haggai, Isaiah and Zechariah, and from such New Testament writings as Corinthians and Luke.

The idea of Handel’s writing of the music under divine “inspiration” is reinforced by the story that the entire intricate, emotive musical score was composed in just 24 days, without food or rest. But this remains unsubstantiated.

His biographers suggest it’s much more likely that Handel’s creative genius drove him to such an extent, everything else became secondary. His powers of fierce concentration made anything apart from music fade into insignificance. He existed on a minimum of sleep for the duration, and in the shortest possible time ate whatever was set before him.

In fact, working under such intense pressure was not new to Handel: he produced the oratorio Solomon in 20 days; it took him just 19 to write the music for Theodora. It’s also an undeniable fact that Handel didn’t compose the entire Messiah score within those 24 days. He adapted whole arias and recitations from his former works, reusing them in slightly altered forms. Some he didn’t bother to change at all.

Music critics cite incidences in which Handel allegedly “borrowed” from other composers. Obviously the laws of copyright and plagiarism were not well developed then, for he seemed not to fear litigation (he was a trained lawyer), but he made those borrowed themes his own, enlarging, altering and improving them in many ways.

Handel completed his part of Messiah in September 1741. He then faced the harder task of finding and persuading some choirmaster to train their choir to perform it. No-one was interested. They saw it not so much as wonderful Christmas music but merely as another Christian oratorio.

More than six agonising months passed. Handel’s financial position showed little improvement, so when at last a choirmaster in Ireland agreed to prepare and perform Messiah at a charity concert in Dublin, in April 1742 (from which neither Jenners nor Handel would receive any money), he consented. Anything to get his work launched and known.

Messiah could not fail to please the religious Irish audience, and it continued to be performed at intervals—mostly for charitable purposes—during the year Handel spent in Ireland.

When eventually the oratorio was taken to London, it didn’t receive the acclaim that Jenners and Handel hoped for. Indeed, it created as much dissension as praise. One 18th-century bigot wrote an angry letter to the editor of a London newspaper declaring Handel had desecrated God’s holy name by titling his work Messiah, and that he was blaspheming God and Holy Writ by performing religious music in a common music hall.

However, the famous oratorio slowly gained prestige as religious music, but it did not bring its creators much fame or fortune. In England a foundling hospital [an orphanage] benefited from annual performances in May, and after his death it was found that Handel had willed most of the grand oratorio to the home. Perhaps Handel’s generosity prevented him from becoming wealthy.

An unsubstantiated story tells of when King George II was present at a public performance. He was so overcome by the majestic music of the “Hallelujah Chorus” that he involuntarily rose to his feet. As no-one may remain seated if royalty is standing, this gave rise to the custom of standing for the duration of that glorious chorus.

It’s unclear when Messiah changed from being only a piece of religious music performed at any time of the year to be recognised as an icon of Christmas. Doubtless it was a gradual evolution. But Messiah is unparalleled for musical majesty, and the “Hallelujah Chorus” encapsulates the homage due our King of kings and Lord of lords. Soon He will return to earth, where He “shall reign for ever and ever and ever.”
Beyond the myths and legends surrounding Messiah, there is a very real Messiah, our Saviour. It’s up to each of us to invite Him to reign in our hearts not only at Christmas, but all year round.

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